


Peter Pan

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an ill-at-ease reunion and an ill-conceived prank, Peter wonders if it's time he grew up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peter Pan

 

First published in  _Magic & Mystery 3 _(2006)

 

Peter Venkman really hated reunions.

Okay, yeah, so that was a new development. Really new, as in that evening. About twenty minutes into his ten-year college reunion, to be exact, the one he’d been looking forward to for the last month.

"Looking forward" was actually an understatement. The last reunion, five years before, had been such a blast, catching up with old frat brothers, partying late into the night just like in the old days, taking home Deirdre Sloan, the homecoming queen, afterward. Peter had just finished his second PhD, been offered a teaching and research position at his alma mater, and the world had been his. And he hadn’t even been a Ghostbuster then.

If anything, he was much better off now. He was famous. He drove a far nicer car than the Nissan he’d arrived in five years before, and his Armani left the old suit he’d borrowed for the last one behind in the dust. He’d even been in the running for “Most Successful Alumnus,” except that Gerry Harrison’s Fortune 500 company was a little more, well, conventional than being a Ghostbuster. And he’d be able to take Deirdre to one of the nicest places in town this time.

Except this time she’d been happily married and five months pregnant.

Peter had been happy for her, well and truly. Yeah, they’d been a couple off and on during college and he’d always considered her “his girl” in a way, but it wasn’t like he’d ever taken it farther than that. She deserved to settle down with a family.

It seemed to be catching.

Bret Norris, quarterback of the Columbia football team and king of the chug-a-lug, had his new wife with him, and seemed a lot more interested in how she was enjoying herself than in talking over old times. Peter didn’t see him touch a drink all night. Chad Seward, the only guy in Tri Cuppa Brew who had needed even less sleep than Peter, had become a pediatrician and was called away on an emergency an hour into the reunion. Sue Wellensimon, once one of Peter’s favorite ladies to party with, kept talking about her two kids. And his closest frat brother, Jimmy Kowecki, hadn’t even made it. They said he was somewhere in Africa doing a stint with the Peace Corps. With his wife and young son.

Everybody had grown up.

It wasn’t a shock, not really. Some of his old buddies had started settling down the last time he’d seen them, Sue already married, Jimmy engaged, Chad deep in the throes of his internship year. But…they were still kids themselves, ready to stay until the wee hours to share a few drinks and a lot of stories and laughs. That had been one of the best evenings of his life; Peter hadn’t even made it home until noon the next day.

This time, he’d left at half-past nine. He hadn’t even been sorry to leave the party early, a party that was already starting to wind down. Peter sighed, fingers playing an absent tattoo on the steering wheel.

His friends were all still his friends, of course, and always would be. But the old bonds were gone, dissolved by the far stronger elements of family and occupations. They winced now when they talked about the excesses of the good old days, but even worse were the almost pitying glances they’d given Peter. He’d been the one to achieve all the dreams they’d had back in college, but in the meantime they’d moved on to new dreams. Grown up.

Leaving Peter Venkman to go home alone in his nice clothes and sports car to his famous job. It wouldn’t be the first time nor, unfortunately, the last, but it had never felt quite so…hollow before.

He took a corner a little too fast, and made himself slow down. He’d be home soon enough. And there was the one consolation, and a big one at that. At least he wasn’t going home to an empty house. No wife and child waited at home for him, and, truthfully, Peter wasn’t sure he wanted that just yet. But three good friends, the kind whom he could lean on and trust and hang out with, were far more than he ever could have hoped for. The fame, the car, the job he loved were all incidental to those three brothers of his, and he would given up all the rest in a flash for them if needed.

Peter started to relax into the seat. Yeah, that was just what he needed, a quiet evening at home. Egon would no doubt be buried in some research or a weighty tome on fungi, Ray liked kicking back with comic books, and Winston usually had a stack of mysteries waiting to be read. Or maybe they could find a movie on TV. They could usually agree on an old movie or a comedy. It wasn’t exactly wild partying, but the more Peter thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. It was just the thing to take his mind off the disappointing evening.

Peter had almost talked himself out of his melancholy by the time he pulled into the firehall garage, already anticipating wheedling Egon into making a batch of his world-famous cocoa. The garage was dark, of course, but his headlights cut across the room, to light on the two figures coming downstairs, their faces grim.

Peter’s newly revived spirits took a plunge. Uh-oh, that looked bad. And only Egon and Winston were there, which left…. He jerked the car into its spot, not even turning off the ignition or the lights before he was lunging out the door.

“Did something happen to Ray?”

The question was unexpected; he could see the surprise in their eyes, and Peter took a deep breath. Okay, Ray was all right, or at least it wasn’t life-and-death. Anything else he could handle.

“Ray is…safe,” Egon said calmly, having reached the bottom of the stairs and standing only a dozen feet away now. “We need to talk to you, Peter.”

Safe—it was a peculiar choice of words. And the looks Winston and Egon were giving him were not reassuring, either. They weren’t worried so much as…annoyed. Disappointed. Apparently in him. Peter’s spirits took another dive. He was starting to feel like he was on a roller coaster, only enjoying it a lot less.

At least it didn’t seem to be critical, and he ducked back into the car to turn the lights and motor off, pocketing the keys. Stalling for a moment to think. What had he done that he shouldn’t have lately? Or not done that he should have? Certainly nothing to Ray, but his absence tickled at Peter. But if he was…okay, then what? The garbage was out back; he’d seen to it before he’d gone, and he’d done the laundry just the other day. It wasn’t his responsibility to cook if he was going out—that was a standing house rule—and he’d even made his bed that morning, to Egon’s shock. Anticipation of that evening had caused temporary insanity. So what were all the glares for?

Peter reluctantly shut the car door and, swinging his jacket onto a shoulder, asked casually, “What’s up, guys? You look like I let Gozer out by accident.”

“Close.” That was Winston, looking unusually stern. From Egon, Peter was used to it, but from Winston it usually meant bad news. Peter glanced from one to the other, already starting to sweat.

“An accident would have been excusable. This sort of behavior is execrable,” Egon said flatly.

The fact that Egon was using fancy words would have already worried Peter if not for the far more frightening insinuation that what he did was unforgivable. Dismay at a chewing out was turning into dread of something worse. “Are you going to tell me what I did, or do I have to guess?” he said, still trying for light but sounding a little shaky.

“Three words, Pete: Ray’s bed. Pizza.”

Oh. Relief whooshed through him. So that was it. He’d forgotten all about the slice of pizza he’d stuck under Ray’s blankets earlier that day. It had been revenge for the younger man beating him to riding shotgun the day before when Peter had already called it, then teasing him about it the whole way to the bust. He’d teased back, unperturbed: revenge was sweet and he’d started planning it right away. Letting Slimer know where the pizza was, was the finishing touch. He just wished he could have been there when Ray had found it.

Or not, if his friends’ faces were any indication. Slimer had probably gotten carried away and slimed up the whole room, maybe even the other three beds looking for more. Peter grimaced. Well, he could live with that. It wasn’t as though he weren’t used to cleaning up slime, and the joke had still been worth it.

He grinned, shrugged. “Slimer made a real mess, huh? Have no fear, Doctor Venkman is here. I’ll have it cleaned up by bedtime, guys. Really,” he added at the impassive responses he was getting. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to spend the evening, but oh well, anything was better than being pond scum to his friends. But his stomach was still stirring uneasily at Egon’s phrasing and the expression that remained on their faces.

“It’s not that,” Winston said. “Did you look in the bed before you stuck the pizza in?”

Puzzled, Peter switched his jacket to hang more comfortably from his arm. “No. Why? Did he have his Dopey Dog sheets on?” Slime washed out of fabric….

“It wasn’t the sheets, Peter. Ray left a comic book tucked under the covers.”

Comic book? What was the big…deal…. Peter’s eyes widened. “You mean… **the** comic book?”

The blond hair bobbed in a solemn wave. “Captain Steel Number One. It’s ruined, of course, and Ray is inconsolable.”

Of course he was, Peter thought distractedly. Not only was it the rarest comic in the series, an expensive collectible, but it had also been a gift from (substitute "from" for "of") his parents before their deaths. He’d wondered before if part of Ray’s continuing affection for the comic hero stemmed from its association with his folks. It was quite possibly his most prized possession, and most definitely ruined if Slimer had gotten hold of it. He knew to leave Ray’s comics alone, but if he hadn’t seen it, either… Well, slime didn’t wash out of paper.

“But…he kept it in his bed?” Peter said weakly. How could he have known that?

“Apparently, he’d been intending to read it tonight. He had no reason to think his property wouldn’t be safe in his own bed.” Egon’s sternness wasn’t letting up a fraction.

“It was totally trashed,” Winston pre-empted his next question. “The slime went right through the plastic sleeve. We threw it away already. Ray tried to hide it, but he was crying, Peter..” Oh, man, this was bad. Peter’s mood was setting new depth records by the second. “I-I didn’t know,” he said. “We do stuff like this all the time, guys—how was I supposed to know….?”

But that wasn’t really the point, and the grim, disapproving faces didn’t give an inch.

Peter winced, falling silent. “I’ll go talk to Ray,” he finally offered.

“Be gentle,” Egon said, and that hurt worse than the disappointment. They didn’t even trust him not to hurt Ray on purpose?

But, no, he deserved it. It’d been his brilliant idea, and then he’d left Winston and Egon to deal with an upset Ray as the consequence. The least he could do was try to make up for it…somehow…after the fact. Sighing, Peter walked past the two of them, ignoring the frowns that followed him as he walked up the stairs, even though he felt their weight on his shoulders.

He didn’t know what was worse, Egon’s disappointment or the crushed expression Ray wore as he sat on the sofa upstairs, listlessly thumbing through a book. He tried to wipe the look away at the sight of Peter, struggling for a smile instead. Ray’s attempt at making _him_ feel better only served to impress on Peter just how low he was, and his own try at a smile fell as sickeningly short as Ray’s.

“Hi, Ray. I, uh, heard about the Captain Steel.”

The involuntary misery the reminder brought into his friend’s face dismayed Peter. No wonder Egon and Winston had been so hard on him, but it wasn’t tougher than he was being with himself at that moment. He rushed on. “I’m really sorry, I had no idea it was there. I’ll replace it for you, I promise.”

Ray opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to argue that, before shutting his mouth again. Peter knew already what he’d intended to say, that the comic was a collectible and Peter probably wouldn’t find a copy. And then there was the part Ray never would have mentioned, that it had been a special issue anyway because it had been from his parents and there was no way to replace that. Instead, he said quietly, “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to do it.”

And that was it, no effusive protest it wouldn’t be missed or that Peter was silly to blame himself, like Ray usually offered. He forgave more easily than anyone Peter had ever met, a truly rare gift he sometimes envied in his friend, and it was obvious now the younger man wasn’t angry with Peter at all. But that just made it worse because it obviously wasn’t okay and had hurt him. One thing Ray was terrible at was acting.

Peter heaved up the energy from somewhere within him and moved closer, stepping around the easy chair to perch on its edge, facing Ray. “No, it’s not okay. I know it meant a lot to you. I’d give anything to get it back for you, I swear.”

Ray sat up straighter, a little of his spark returning. “I know that, Peter, honest. And…yeah, it was…special, but…it was just a comic book, right? I’ve got a lot of others.”

He was really trying, and even as Peter was more grateful than he could say for the effort, it also made him feel even more like a heel. Okay, yeah, he hadn’t known the comic book was there and would never have done it on purpose, but still, he’d been careless with a friend’s dearest possession. He might as well have taken a beloved stuffed animal from a baby. 

Ray unexpectedly reached out a hand, patting him on the arm. “It’s okay, really. I’ll find another one.” He gave Peter a real smile this time.

So much for the baby analogy; Ray had more fiber to him than most adults Peter had met. He smiled back for his friend’s sake, giving Ray’s hand a squeeze. “Okay, Tex. Uh, you need help cleaning up your bed?”

The auburn head shook. “Winston and Egon took care of it.”

“I think I’m gonna turn in early then.” He gave Ray another piercing look. “You sure you’re okay?”

An immediate nod this time. “I’m fine.” Amazingly, seeing Peter seemed to have helped; the unhappiness faded in his eyes, but a shadow still lingered.   “I’m really sorry, Ray,” Peter found himself repeating quietly.

“It’s okay,” Ray patiently repeated his answer.

He was starting to have to be the comforter, and it wasn’t fair to thrust that on him, too, so Peter left before he could apologize again, trudging upstairs to the bunkroom. Winston and Egon had done a good job; Ray’s bed looked as pristine as it had that afternoon when he’d hidden the pizza in it. Then again, they probably hadn’t wanted any bad reminders around for Ray.

Pizza in the bed. Peter shook his head disgustedly as he stripped and put his pajamas on. What kind of a moronic idea had that been? He might as well have put a “Kick Me” sign on Ray’s back—no matter what his intentions, that would have hurt less and been about as mature. No wonder the others at the reunion had looked so askance at him. They were busy doing important things like having families and working important jobs, while he ran around playing stupid grade-school jokes that ended up hurting his friends.

_Ghostbusting’s an important job, too,_ a little voice rang in the back of his mind, but Peter was unwilling to listen to anything but self-condemnation at that moment. He crawled stiffly into bed. There was murmurs of talking and movement downstairs, then the soft sounds of the television came on. The quiet evening at home he’d envisioned was happening, just without him. He’d made himself unwelcome through his juvenile behavior, his refusal to grow up. It was little surprise no one wanted to hang out with him. Well, Ray would have made the effort, but Ray would have been nice to his own worst enemy.

Peter still lay there, thinking, his stomach knotted unhappily, when the guys crept upstairs some time later. Their voices were muted, trying not to wake him, and Peter didn’t disabuse them of the notion he was asleep. He had no desire to face them just then. Instead, he listened as they made their preparations and one by one got into bed, Ray waving off a concerned query from Winston as he did. Peter heard Egon, the last one up, move around behind him, no doubt folding down the covers just the right way, seeming to pause just beside Peter’s bed. “Good night, Peter,” came the quiet bass voice after a long moment, and then he’d turned away and was climbing into his own bed.

It was a while after everyone’s breathing had slowed into sleep that Peter’s turbulent thoughts let him follow.

 

He awoke with a start, wondering for a moment what had roused him so early. The light drifting in through the far window was still dim, the sun only just rising. It lit Ray with its faint light, glints of red and gold shining in his hair as he lay curled in bed.

Peter remembered suddenly what had bothered him even in sleep.

Pushing himself up quietly in bed, he took a quick glance around the room. Everybody was still asleep, unsurprising on an early Sunday morning. He was usually the last to rise, but that was only because he usually slept until noon if left alone.

This time, sleep and the soft bed didn’t entice him back. Rising silently, Peter gathered some clothes and crept out into the bathroom. A half-hour later, he stepped out of the firehall with a page of names and addresses copied from the phone book in his pocket and a quick note on Janine’s desk, then left the building and his fancy car behind him.

 

Dusk was starting to fall as Peter trudged wearily up the street toward home. He’d have ridden in the cab all the way except that he couldn’t remember if it was his turn to cook or not, and he had no desire to shirk any of his duties just then. The Chinese place they usually ordered from was just a block down Mott, and Peter had stopped there first to get some of everyone’s favorites. Especially Ray’s. Peter juggled the warm bag carefully now, not letting it get close to the other package he was holding. That had worked fine while he’d been walking, but now as he stood in front of the firehall and tried to figure out how to take the keys out of his pocket, Peter was stymied.

He’d just decided to put down the bag of food and dig his keys out with his free hand when the door unexpectedly swung open to reveal Egon standing in the doorway.

Peter started to grin at the welcome sight, faltering when he remembered the last time he’d talked to Egon, then took a stab at it nevertheless. At Egon’s frown, however, the attempt soon died.

“Hi?” he ventured, suddenly unsure of his welcome. It was a very lonely feeling.

Egon must have noticed, his face immediately softening, and Peter realized it had been a frown of worry, not disapproval. Well, mostly. The relief that hit him almost made him smile again.

“Where have you been?” Egon asked without preamble.

“Shopping.” Peter thrust the bag of Chinese toward Egon, then stepped through the doorway and passed him. “I brought dinner.” But Ecto wasn’t in its place, and he turned questioningly toward Egon. Surely Ray and Winston hadn’t gone out on a run….

“They went to a movie. Ray needed a distraction.” Egon must have caught Peter’s wince because he quickly added, “He wasn’t upset, merely a little…down.”

With Ray, being down could mean mere cheerfulness instead of his usual bubbling enthusiasm, but Peter knew better, especially if the guys had thought a distraction was in order. Especially since Winston and Ray didn’t have much in common in their taste in movies. Then again, Egon’s idea of a flick was a science film on the life cycle of cicadas. But it was yet another example of Peter’s not having been there when he should have been, and it smarted. Peter ducked his head and headed back toward the stairs. “So I guess everyone ate, huh?”

“We weren’t certain when you’d be back, so Winston cooked. I was getting worried, Peter.” Egon was following him, carrying the bag.

“Hey, I left a note.”

“’Gone out—don’t know when I’ll be back’ is hardly informative.”

Peter shrugged, not in the mood for either admonishment or teasing.

They climbed up the stairs in silence, the smell of one of Winston’s homemade meat-and-cheese casseroles making Peter even hungrier than the Chinese food. He hadn’t eaten all day, and although he loved sweet-and-sour pork, nothing beat home cooking. Laying his package gently on the dining room table, he went into the kitchen and reached for a plate. And saw the casserole pan sitting empty in the sink. Peter instantly changed his reach toward the glasses as if that’d been his goal all along, and tried not to feel ridiculous hurt at his friends not leaving him dinner.

Egon followed him into the kitchen, depositing the bag of food on the table, then reached past Peter to open the oven. A heaping plate sat inside, still warm. Peter blinked at the sight.

“For me?”

“Of course.” And there was a hint of disapproval in Egon’s voice that he’d even needed to ask.

Peter bit his lip, not liking the feeling of being so uncertain where he stood. He’d been miserable all day, thinking about Ray’s expression the night before, Winston and Egon’s chilly treatment, his out-of-placeness at the reunion. He wanted to be forgiven and move on so badly, it ached, but at the same time he’d been dumb and he knew it. He deserved as much of a cold shoulder as the guys wanted to give him.

But it was still lonely.

Avoiding Egon’s eyes, he reached for the plate, yipped at finding it was too hot to be handled, and quickly splashed water on his reddened fingers before Egon could do more than take a step closer. Peter didn’t think he could stand being told one more time he’d acted rashly. Grabbing an oven mitt, he retrieved the plate safely this time, setting it on the table on top of a trivet he remembered just in time to snag. And then he bent over it to concentrate on eating, hoping both that Egon would leave and that he’d stay.

Egon, of course, did his own thing, moving to put away the food Peter had brought. “It smells good,” he remarked neutrally. “Moo Goo Gai Pan?”

“For you. Lot of good it did.” Peter smiled humorlessly between bites.

“It’ll be good for lunch tomorrow.” Egon stashed all the different containers in the refrigerator, then smoothed out the bag for recycling. And then he sat down at the table across from Peter.

Peter studiously ignored him, eating food he was hardly tasting anymore.

“How did the reunion go last night? You came home early.”

Egon seemed genuinely interested, and while the subject was hardly a happy one, at least it was a change. “Okay. It ended early—everyone was hurrying home to their kids,” Peter answered. Maybe a touch more bitterly than he’d intended.

Egon’s eyebrow went up; of course he’d noticed. “I didn’t realize babysitters were becoming so expensive.”

Peter swallowed a bite that went down hard. “It wasn’t all kids. Chad got called away to the hospital—one of his patients had an emergency. And Jimmy didn’t make it ‘cause he’s in Uganda with the Peace Corps.”            

“They seem to have done well,” Egon cautiously offered. “I would’ve thought you would be happy for them?”

It was sort of a question because Egon could always tell when he wasn’t happy, but Peter winced at the thought of answering. Yay, another chance to prove how mature he was. “I _am_ happy for them. I just felt…sort of left out, you know?”

“Ah.” Understanding was beginning to dawn in his old friend’s eyes, and Peter wasn’t sure that was a good thing or not. “Because you, of course, have made nothing out of your life.”

Peter put the fork down. “That’s not what I mean. I wouldn’t give up busting for anything, you know that. But look at me, Spengs—I’ve got a different date every night, my idea of investing is getting leather seats for the car, and for fun I play jokes that end up ruining my friend’s most priceless possession.” He almost choked on a smile. “I’m like the frat guy who never grew up.”

Which was where he half-expected Egon to jump in with some dry comment on his powers of understatement. He steeled himself for it, eyes on the table, feeling horribly exposed. It was why he usually joked around, to keep from admitting things like that.

But Egon just sighed. That was enough to make Peter curious, and he snuck a glance up. Spengler was watching him with that blend of fondness and exasperation that was uniquely Egon. And, to Peter’s surprise, also sympathy and contrition.

“Peter, I must apologize. Winston and I were upset for Ray last night, and I’m afraid we were rather severe. Perhaps your actions were…ill-conceived, but they were hardly worse than anything any one of us has done in the past, and certainly weren’t intended to harm. Winston and I both knew that, and certainly Ray did, too. I am sorry we criticized you so harshly.”

Peter shook his head. “It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve. I _had_ acted like a dumb kid. I’ve practically made a personality of it: Peter Venkman, media hound, joke-a-minute—”

“Stop it.”

Egon’s voice was so fierce, his hand almost digging into Peter’s wrist, that Peter was shocked into silence.

A little less vehemently, Egon went on. “I have never tolerated anyone speaking ill of my friends before, and I will not start now. I understand the reunion was upsetting, and your joke on Ray backfiring the same day was an unfortunate coincidence. But that hardly means you are developmentally immature or somehow unworthy of your job or your friends. It is unlike you to be so self-pitying, Peter.”

Actually, it wasn’t sometimes, he just usually didn’t indulge it so much. A few careful jibes from the guys and an understanding look from Egon usually shook him out of it. But, well, it was hard to forget Ray’s misery the night before, of which he hadn’t even been there for the worst part. “I know, Egon,” Peter said honestly, tiredly, alternating between looking the physicist in the face and studying the refrigerator behind him. “Most of the time, I’m fine. But sometimes I wonder if I go too far, you know?” He shrugged, uncomfortable with how personal this had gotten but unable to stop. “Maybe I should finally start acting my age.”

Egon shook his head, looking very serious, but his fingers curled around Peter’s wrist kindly this time. “Peter. I think I hardly need remind you what a difficult job we have. We deal with far more dangerous and dark situations than most people do, including, I daresay, your fellow reunion-goers. There have been times when I believe the levity you provided was what got us through. And you have always been serious when you needed to be, sometimes in grave situations where it would have been far easier to retreat into immaturity.” His voice abruptly gentled. “And although I will deny it if you quote me, your sense of humor was part of what drew me when we first met. It is a part of who you are, along with your caring, your excellent psychology skills, and a propensity for sleeping half the day away. I shudder to think now where I would be without it.”

Peter’s eyes swam a moment, the tightness of his chest abruptly, immeasurably eased. It seemed they could forgive him even moments of stupidity, and with friends like that, who cared what anyone else thought? He couldn’t help giving Egon a quick, joyous grin, squeezing the thin fingers in return.

And then he cleared his throat, blinking his eyes clear. Okay, enough mushiness or they’d be swimming in the stuff. Even if Peter felt light enough to float.

His laugh was almost steady. “So you admit my sleeping in is a necessary part of my charming personality.”

“I don’t recall using the words ‘necessary’ or ‘charming’.” Egon’s voice was back to its usual dryness, even more so for Peter’s benefit, as if his words from a minute ago had never been uttered. But the blue eyes didn’t deny it, and Peter remembered.

“How ‘bout ‘necessary evil’?”

“I hardly believe sleeping several hours later than the rest of the city could be termed ‘necessary’ in any context.”

“That’s ‘cause you have no social life, Egon. If you went out every night like me….” He faltered for a moment.

“Then I would be as responsible as you for not getting a good night’s sleep,” Egon finished firmly, not letting him stray back to earlier arguments. His expression said as much.

Peter mentally thanked him for the determined normalcy. He was still feeling a little too guilty to stick to it without help, but already the banter had shored him up, easing some of the accumulated fatigue of the day and a great deal of its heart-weariness. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he finally said with a shake of the head and another bite of the cooled food. No matter, it still tasted good.

“I prefer ‘tenacious.’ And some things are worth being ‘stubborn’ about.”

And they both pretended he’d meant sleeping late.

Peter had just dug into the food with renewed relish when the sound of the door downstairs and Ray’s animated voice could be heard downstairs. He put his fork down as someone ran up the stairs. Ray, no doubt—Winston had the energy but not nearly the enthusiasm unless it was an emergency.

But it was excitement in Ray’s voice as he called, “Peter? Is Peter home yet?”

“In here, Ray,” he answered before Egon could, and he pushed the plate away half-full, not hungry all of a sudden.

Ray showed up in the doorway, eyes lighting when they saw the psychologist. “Peter! Where’ve you been? We were getting worried about you.” He dropped from glad to concerned in a heartbeat. “Are you okay?”

There weren’t many people who would worry more about someone who’d just hurt them than about themselves, but Ray was one, and being his friend really was luckier than Peter deserved. He gave the younger man a slightly abashed grin. “Hey, Tex. I’m fine, I just had to go shop around for something. Here.” He pushed himself to his feet and slipped past Ray out into the dining room, picking the package up from the table. “Gotcha something.”

Ray’s face radiated his ever-present eagerness and more than a little curiosity and pleasure as he set to opening the bag and the tissue-wrapped package inside. “For me? Gosh, Peter, you shouldn’t ha—”

That was as far as he got before he peeled away enough paper to catch sight of the comic’s cover, and fell still and silent. Peter held his breath, hearing Egon’s catch from behind him. Was it the wrong one? He hadn’t seen the slimed comic, but the guys had said issue number one. He’d been lucky to find it, the private dealer had told him, and Peter knew it. He’d even swung by Les Wolfman’s and asked the comic book writer to sign it, which made it worth a little bit more than the small fortune he’d paid for it.

Still no one had said anything, and Peter finally cleared his throat. “Uh, that’s the one, right?”

Ray nodded. He was looking a little dazed, except he was usually exploding in five different directions when he was overjoyed. “Oh, Peter.” Bright hazel eyes finally looked up at him. “This is _incredible_! Where did you find it?”

He usually didn’t hear that tone for anything less than a Class Nine. Peter risked a smile. “Oh, I was just walking down the street and there it was, in the window, and I thought, what the heck…”

“Oh, Peter,” Ray repeated, and was starting to look humbled. He would know better than any of them how much looking it would have taken to find a rare issue. “Thank you, it’s _wonderful_. I love it. But I can’t take this—it’s so _expensive_!”

He shook his head. “It’s done—can’t take it back. I don’t think I’d even be able to find the guy again. It’s okay, Ray, I had some saved up.” All his savings so far from that year, in fact, earmarked for an expensive new stereo system, but Peter had felt far better about this purchase. “Besides,” he added, “I wanted to. I know it’s not from your folks and nothing can really replace that, but—”

Anything else he was going to say was lost in Ray’s impulsive hug. “It’s perfect, Peter. I have other things from my parents—this one’s special ‘cause it’s from you.”

He had to be blushing, and it was probably a good thing his face was buried in a mop of auburn hair. Peering through it, he saw Egon and Winston looking on with contented approval, happy for them both. The world was finally starting to make sense again, perfect in that one moment, and Peter felt the satisfaction seep into his soul.

Ray finally pulled back, giving him an also slightly red-faced but no less happy look. And then a wicked sparkle appeared in his eyes. “I guess maybe I should clean out the macaroni and cheese I left in your bed, then.”

Peter’s eyes widened.

Ray put the comic carefully on the table and slid a step closer to the stairs. “Of course, I think Slimer’s been up there already, so it’s probably all gone now…”

Peter gave an outraged howl and lunged after Ray, who was already flying up the stairs. Egon and Winston’s laughter followed them up. And even as he chased Ray into the bedroom, Peter was grinning.

It wasn’t kids and a wife and a nine-to-five suit-and-tie career. But it was his family and life, and Peter Venkman wouldn’t have traded it for any other on Earth.

 The End


End file.
